


The Tools At His Disposal

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Plug, Bondage, Brainwashing, M/M, Non-con/dub-con, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment between Master and slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tools At His Disposal

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kind of got this idea from watching an episode of Criminal Minds (3x07- Identity). It’s based around the idea that a lord is owed everything and his servants and serf are just tools at his disposal to get the things he deserves.

He stares down indifferently as ash stirs in the late afternoon breeze. In the courtyard, sullen embers glare back. All that is left is a few stray pieces of hay and charred bone of the sorceress. The crowd has started to dissipate fading into the shadows, leaving now that their presence is no longer required by their king.

Flicking his cloak to settle around his shoulders better, he strides from the balcony, back into the dim depths of his castle. Servant and slaves alike bow their heads in his wake, afraid to catch his eye. Especially the bound sorcerers. They know what has just happened, what could happen to them if they fight. A small smirk tugs his lips a little at the thought.

Dismissing the servant standing by his door with a flick of his wrist - they have learned by now not to enter his chambers if he or his guard are not there to - und slips into the room. It is dim, the fire in here just as sullen as the one in the courtyard. A log added and a few puffs of breath have it growing, lighting up the rooms he calls his own.

Unclasping his cloak, he throws it over a nearby chair, finally looking at the figure resting on his bed. Skin pale as porcelain and hair as dark as night, he stands out starkly against the crimson of his coverlet.

His arms are pulled back, held taut by the black rope that connects them to his ankles, held immobile and open for his king. Has been like this since this morning when he painstakingly tied each knot, caressed each plane of smooth pale skin.

Walking over to his table, he pours a goblet of wine, letting the dark ruby fluid coat his throat sweetly, clearing away the smoke that lingers there, the taint of the burnt sorceress. Striding over to the bed, he stares down at the feast laid before him. The boy is asleep, even in such an awkward position. The black of the rope as it snakes around his pale arms is striking and he reaches out to caress it softly, liking the velvety feel of it. Only the finest for their king.

A loop of the black rope trails up the boy’s back, curling into the loop on the back of the boy’s elegantly carved collar. It rests snuggly around his long pale throat, marking him as not only a sorcerer, but as _Arthur’s_. It is a brand that will never be removed.

By this time, the wine has seeped into him, flushing him with warmth and he adjusts himself in his breeches before reaching out, stroking blunt fingers over the boy’s pale shoulders, lingering over the edge of the collar. Quickly, he trails his fingertips softly down his smooth and curving back until he gets to where he most wants to be.

Smooth wood, flat and with rounded edges meets his questing fingers. He runs a fingernail along its rim, just barely hearing the faint scrap of the wood . He must have felt it deep inside him - and doesn’t that just send a thrill down to his groin -, because the boy starts to stir, small snuffling sounds escaping his pillowy red lips. He presses down on the blunt end of the phallus inside him, pressing it deeper and the boy’s back arches even more, thrusting his chest out.

“S-sire,” he chokes out, eyes open and such a shining blue, the black centers expanding until only the barest rim remains.

“Sleep well, Merlin?” he hisses, pressing again and Merlin arches even more, straining against the ropes to get closer and yet further away. “Look at you, all trussed up and ready for me. What a good tool you are.” He let off, caressing Merlin’s quivering thighs gently, like calming a spooked horse.

Merlin’s chest heaves with each breath, each rib showing from the tight pull of muscle from the awkward position. He caresses Merlin’s hair, running the silky strands through his finger. “Such a good boy for your king, aren’t you Merlin? You’ll always be my tool, won’t you?”

Merlin’s breath stutters and he grabs a handful of hair, jerking his head back. “ _Won’t_ you?” he hisses.

“Y-yes, sire. Always, I’ll always belong to you.” Merlin turns his head against his grip, trying to catch his eye.

“Good,” he says and pulls at Merlin’s hair until the boy is dragged to the edge of the bed. Letting his hair go, he quickly unknots his laces, tugging himself out with a sigh of satisfaction. “Now be a good tool and serve me.” He grabs Merlin by the hair again, tugging him up until his face is level with his groin.

He doesn’t give any warning, just presses on the hinge of his jaw, forcing those ruby lips apart and pressing in. Merlin chocks, gagging around his flesh, but he is still careful, keeping his teeth covered. He has been taught well and knows that any mistake will not be tolerated.

Eventually, he get’s his body under control and then Merlin just relaxes, letting his king use him like he has been shaped for. It doesn’t take long for him to come, emptying himself into the gorgeous throat. Pulling out, he forces Merlin’s head up, staring at those glistening ruby lips that are even redder, bruised from such rough treatment.

He runs a gentle thumb over them, spreading his seed and saliva around, painting the pale flesh around his lips. “Fit for a king,” he murmurs, gently petting Merlin’s hair again. Laying the boy back down on the bed, he quickly strips his clothes off, chucking them where they fall. Already, he can feel heat stirring in his gut and it won’t be long before he’s ready for another round.

Curling his arms underneath him, he lifts Merlin up, positioning him how he likes - on his back, legs forced open, exposed completely to him - and admires his handy work. Merlin is flushed, bodily trembling, his chest heaving with each breath that is sucked in.

Smirking down at Merlin, he reaches for the phallus still embedded deeply into his tight body. Merlin shivers and mewls as he slowly twists it, drawing it back a fraction before pressing it back in. He sets up a steady rhythm, drawing more lovely noises from his throat.

After a while though, he grows bored of this and slowly but steadily pulls it out, drawing a broken moan from Merlin’s lips. Arthur stars at his hole, open and winking duskily from its hiding spot in such a secret place. No one but he has knowledge of this and he will keep it that way.

Reaching around he grips just the right lop of the knot and it unravels with silky ease. Merlin’s limbs sprawl around him, as if they have no energy left to support themselves up. Sliding the rope from around Merlin’s pale limps, he tosses it to the side like everything else. His manservant will see to it in the morning.

Gently, he rubs at Merlin’s limbs, stroking the marks left by the rope, admiring his handy work while he helps the blood flow back into the boy’s hands and feet. Merlin lets him, only moving a arm here or a leg there to help his king reach.

By the time he’s finished, his back to full hardness, straining up against his muscled stomach, tip glistening. Merlin’s eyes are fixed on it, pupils blown, flush spreading further down his chest.

He settles to the side of Merlin, back to the head board. “Serve me.” Merlin doesn’t need to be told twice by him. The boy is quick, scrambling from his prone position, crawling into his lap, draping himself over him.

Grabbing his thighs, he spreads him wide, reaching down to position himself at Merlin’s entrance. The boy sinks down without a hitch, a low moan escaping his pale throat as his long fingered hands grab at his shoulders for leverage and a way to ground himself. He lets him, enjoying the way his tool is wound so tight for him, that only he can keep him grounded as he sinks into Merlin’s body.

He’s tight and hot around him, wet from oil and his own seed from this morning. As he bottoms out, he lets out a groan, head dropping down to rest on a pale shoulder as Merlin squeezes rhythmically around his hardened flesh.

Clutching at pale prominent hips, he surges up, forcing Merlin down and the boy cries out breathily. He’s brutal, pistoning forward over and over, not stopping, or letting up. Merlin cries and arches over him, biting at his already reddened lips, words peppering his gasps and moans. “ _Sire, ah, yes…oh, sire, please, more…._ ”

Snarling, he presses up on last time, biting down on Merlin’s collarbone, just below the metal collar and releases into Merlin’s spasming body. His sight grays a little, sparks playing behind closed lids.

Above him, Merlin stiffens, body arching as he comes with a hoarse cry, calling his name, “A-Arthur…,” and collapses against him. They lay there, breathing harshly, the room filled with the smell sex and wood smoke.

Arthur rolls them over, pulling out and reaching over Merlin to pick up his discarded undershirt. It’s a matter of second to clean them up. Merlin,” Arthur commands and the candles wink out, the fire dimming in its hearth.

Arthur settles under the coverlet, dragging Merlin with him. Arranging the warlock as he wants, they settle into the darkness of the room. “Mine,” Arthur hisses, digging his fingers into his enslaved warlock’s arse.

“Always,” Merlin whispers back, pressing closer to his master.

 **End.**


End file.
